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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22659457">The Raven's Flight</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/platinum_firebird/pseuds/platinum_firebird'>platinum_firebird</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Friends to Lovers, Identity Porn, Jousting, M/M, Tournaments</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-04-29 05:34:17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>11,604</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22659457</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/platinum_firebird/pseuds/platinum_firebird</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A knight riding under an assumed name in the lists and a mysterious stranger at a masked ball both bear the image of a raven as their symbol. Glorfindel has a list of likely candidates, but like all of Gondolin, his mind is gripped by only one question.</p><p>Who is the man in the raven mask?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Ecthelion of the Fountain/Glorfindel</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>2020 My Slashy Valentine</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>The Raven's Flight</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fadesintothewest/gifts">Fadesintothewest</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Courtly love and intrigue, anyone?</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“A Man?” King Turgon questioned, frowning as he leant forward in his throne. “Who is this Man, and in what manner is he special enough to warrant breaking my edict to let no outsider pass the gates?”</p><p>The messenger who had been sent down in haste from the outer gate, now standing in the centre of the throne room with all eyes on him, looked almost green with nerves. “My lord Ecthelion did not say, your majesty. He said only that he was bringing a Man to the city with all haste, as it was urgent he be granted an audience with the King.”</p><p>Turgon’s eyebrows raised just a fraction. “Did he say why this Man required such urgent attention?”</p><p>“Er, no, your majesty,” the messenger said.</p><p>As the King asked another question, Glorfindel leant over and said under his breath, “It seems in his haste Ecthelion neglected to provide <em>several </em>key pieces of information. That is not like him, is it?”</p><p>Rog, who sat beside him, shook his head. “Indeed, it is not, for Ecthelion is the most thorough of all of us. This Man must be something special.”</p><p>“Aye, he must, to fluster him so,” Glorfindel agreed, frowning down at the messenger. “Or something dangerous.”</p><p>“Always your mind jumps to the worst scenario,” Rog said, giving a him a poke with his elbow. “Especially when Ecthelion is the one involved. What harm could a single Man do to our entire garrison? You do not need to worry about him so.”</p><p>“Aye, I know. Ecthelion can do without my mother henning,” Glorfindel said, smiling.</p><p>“You should be happy - I know how much you miss him when it is his turn to man the gate.”</p><p>That was true - Glorfindel did miss him terribly - but rather than admit to it he said, “How could I miss him when I have your most excellent company, Rog?”</p><p>Rog snorted, and they both subsided into silence again.</p><p>Ecthelion and his mysterious human would be an hour or two behind the messenger, so there was still time for the session of open court to continue as usual. Lords were not required to attend every session, but one of Glorfindel’s vassals was in the middle of a property dispute with a man from the House of the Swallow, and he intended to oversee it.</p><p>The case was well underway by the time Glorfindel noticed the whispers and muted commotion going on at the back of the Great Hall. He tamped down on a flicker of annoyance, knowing that Turgon wouldn’t interrupt the discussion in favour of the newcomer - and indeed he didn’t, waiting until both parties had agreed to return in several days to hear his verdict before he turned toward the back of the hall and waved Ecthelion forward.</p><p>Two figures accompanied him; one an elf who seemed vaguely familiar to Glorfindel, and the other the promised human man. He was tall and fair, his golden hair drawn back into a long tail. Though he carried the dirt of hard travel on his clothes and skin, there was something lordly about him still, and though he drew his cloak close about himself, Glorfindel thought he could see something glinting underneath.</p><p>“So this is Man you were so eager that I see, Ecthelion,” Turgon said. “Tell me, stranger, what is your name? For you look familiar to me, though I know we have never met.”</p><p>“I have never had that honour, your majesty,” the young Man said, his voice confident as it carried around the hall, “But my father Huor and his brother Húrin once lived in your halls, for a time. My name is Tuor, son of Huor, and I am told I resemble my father in face and bearing.”</p><p>Glorfindel exchanged a glance with his steward next to him, who appeared just as surprised as he was as mutters swept through the room. Even Turgon looked rather astonished as he said, “That you do. It is no wonder, now, why Ecthelion consented to allow you to pass the gate.”</p><p>“That is one reason, majesty,” Ecthelion murmured, “But not the whole of it.” When Tuor glanced at him, Ecthelion nodded and said, “Show him.”</p><p>Tuor pulled back his cloak, and Glorfindel was one of many who let out an involuntary gasp. He remembered very well the armour and weapons Turgon had left behind in Vinyamar - and now here was the one who wore them, come to them just as Ulmo had promised he would. This explained why he had been allowed inside so easily.</p><p>“I come to you as a messenger from Ulmo, who appeared to me beside the sea in Vinyamar. He bids you remember the Doom of Mandos that was pronounced so long ago, and he warns that even now that prophecy nears its fulfilment, and the end of all the works of the Noldor is soon to come. Therefore he says unto you, look ever to the West, and the Powers that reside there. He bids you go now; leave the city you have built, and with your people go down Sirion to the sea.”</p><p>The voice that spoke these words was not the same voice that had earlier issued from Tuor. Now his words echoed around the cavernous space of the Great Hall, and they held a power and weight in them that none could fail to recognise. <em>He speaks with the voice of Ulmo himself</em>, Glorfindel thought.</p><p>The silence that reigned after Tuor’s speech was deep, and for many minutes went unbroken. Turgon was looking into the middle distance, his eyes seeing something other than the Great Hall and its occupants, while beside him his daughter Idril cast concerned looks between her father and the newcomer. On Turgon’s right hand, his sister-son Maeglin wore a grimace, his brow furrowed and mouth twisted up.</p><p>After an age, Turgon spoke. “Truly this is the message of Ulmo,” he said quietly, “And thus I must not lightly give my answer. Yes, I must think on it,” he said, almost as if he were speaking to himself. Then he looked up and added, “You are as welcome in my realm as was your father, Tuor son of Huor.” Then Turgon stood, the signal that the session of open court was at an end.</p><p>A sea of voices swelled upward the moment the door shut behind the King. Glorfindel couldn’t help but let his curiosity drag him forward until he stood close to Ecthelion, who was watching Tuor while the Man eyed the crowd, many of whom were staring back at him in turn. None of them had yet grown bold enough to come forward.</p><p>“I should have known your curiosity would make you first to poke your nose in, Glorfindel,” Ecthelion said, turning to face him. His words were light, but Glorfindel could see in a moment that he wasn’t in the best of moods.</p><p>“Indeed, I am very curious about our visitor,” Glorfindel said, noting how the young Man turned to blink at him. Quieter he added, “And after all, someone had to come forward first.”</p><p>“Of course,” Ecthelion said, though he still sounded sour. Glorfindel wondered if Ecthelion had hoped the King would stay to talk to Tuor personally, or if Ecthelion was just irritated by the interruption to his regimented schedule.</p><p>Tuor had kept respectfully silent while they spoke, but he bowed after Ecthelion formally introduced him. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” he said.</p><p>“And I yours,” Glorfindel returned, “Though I doubt I will be the last person whose acquaintance you make today. Many of us hold dear the memory of your father.”</p><p>“That is good to hear,” Tuor said, though there was a great sadness in his eyes.</p><p>Other people were moving forward, and Glorfindel opened his mouth to say his goodbyes and step back when the crowds parted like a sea, letting two figures pass through. As usual, the Princess and her cousin were a study in contrasts; Idril fair and golden-haired where Maeglin was dark, her dressed all in white while his attire was entirely black. They stopped before Tuor, who bowed.</p><p>Idril smiled at him and said, “Welcome, Tuor son of Huor, to our home.”</p><p>The young Man stuttered something in reply, seemingly overcome by being in such close proximity to the princess, and Glorfindel leant over to Ecthelion. “Did he tell you how he managed to find us?” he asked. “Huor promised that no word of where Gondolin lay would pass his lips.”</p><p>“As far as I know, it did not,” Ecthelion replied. He nodded at something over to their right, and when Glorfindel followed his gaze, he saw an elf standing at the edge of the crowd, watching Tuor - the same elf who had walked in beside him earlier.</p><p>“I recognise him, I think,” Glorfindel said, taking in the elf’s tall, dark-haired, distinctly Noldorin appearance. “Was he not among your House?”</p><p>“The son of my father’s stablemaster - in Aman, that is. His name is Voronwë; he was sent to captain one of the ships the King sent into the West. The ship foundered, but by the grace of Ulmo he was saved.”</p><p>“And he guided Tuor here,” Glorfindel finished. Now he better understood Ecthelion’s foul mood; if Turgon were to lay blame anywhere for the Man’s appearance in Gondolin, then Voronwë, a member of Ecthelion’s House, would be the sure candidate. “He would be culpable, if blame were to be assigned.”</p><p>“You need not put such a fine point on it,” Ecthelion snapped.</p><p>“No, I am sorry. Forgive me.”</p><p>Ecthelion shook his head. “I should not have snapped. It is only- his family had given up hope of him returning at all. It would be hard on them, if he were to be punished.”</p><p>“Surely no one should be punished for this? Was the messenger not sent here by Ulmo himself? No one can think to mete out punishment for aiding in the designs of the Valar.”</p><p>“That also was my thought,” Ecthelion said.</p><p>“But?” Glorfindel prompted, sensing he had more to say.</p><p>Ecthelion sighed. “If the King wishes to judge that Voronwë has broken the law, I will not protest.”</p><p>“Even though you believe him to be innocent?” Glorfindel asked.</p><p>“Even so.”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>Ecthelion hesitated for a moment before saying, “It is the King’s strictest law. I do not think I would make much headway, were I to protest his innocence.”</p><p>“Well.” Glorfindel shook his head. Even though Ecthelion was right, and his choice would be the practical one that would benefit his House and not ruffle the King’s feathers, it did not sit right with him. “Perhaps I shall speak for him, then.”</p><p>“He is not of your House.”</p><p>“I believe any Lord of Gondolin may speak out if he sees injustice being perpetrated.” Glorfindel gave Ecthelion a look. “Is that not the law?”</p><p>“It is.” Ecthelion seemed to chew on his words for a moment before adding, “But you may find you get yourself into trouble, Glorfindel.”</p><p>“Well, if I do, that would not be so out of character for me, would it?”</p><p>“No - though I do wish you would take care <em>not </em>to cause such…waves,” Ecthelion said.</p><p>“Ah, but would I be me without them?” When Ecthelion’s only response was to look even grimmer, Glorfindel said, “Why, are you worried you will be tainted by association?”</p><p>“No, I simply worry-” Ecthelion hesitated, as if reconsidering the wisdom of completing his sentence.</p><p>“You worry too much? Aye, that you do, my friend.”</p><p>Ecthelion gave a heavy sigh. “Yes,” he said, “I worry too much. That is what I meant.”</p><p>~</p><p>The King held a welcome feast in the Great Hall that night to celebrate Tuor’s arrival, which seemed to disquiet the Man no end.</p><p>“I cannot think I have earned such festivities,” he said under his breath, only just loud enough that Glorfindel and Ecthelion, seated on either side of him, could hear.</p><p>“Your family has earned such respect, and no doubt you will live up to their name,” Ecthelion said.</p><p>Glorfindel wished he could give his friend a sharp elbow in the side. “That is not going to make anyone feel better, Ecthelion,” he hissed. “Just try to enjoy it, Tuor. And try not to think of anything too heavy or philosophical - you might put yourself off your food.”</p><p>Idril was watching them closely from the other side of the table, but she didn’t call attention to their whispering. “The first course is a soup,” she said, “I hope you will like it, Tuor.”</p><p>“I am sure it will be wonderful,” Tuor said, and just like that, he seemed more relaxed.</p><p>The dinner moved on, the conversation flowing naturally, and though Glorfindel kept giving him surreptitious glances from the corner of his eye, it seemed Tuor was handling it well despite his nerves. They talked of many subjects over the course of the evening, and if Tuor said little about the outside world or his life before he arrived in Gondolin, it seemed no one begrudged him that. He spoke when asked of his skill with weapons - he preferred the axe to the sword, and found little joy in the bow - but he seemed somewhat uncomfortable with the topic, so they soon moved on.</p><p>Eventually the talk circled around to the subject of the masked ball that had been announced at the beginning of the meal.</p><p>“I expect the princess already has it all planned out in her head,” Glorfindel said, giving her a grin.</p><p>“Well, we were going to hold a ball to mark the beginning of the ten year celebrations,” Idril said, “It will be simplest to pull a few strings and get that moved forward. Though I did toy with the idea of making it a masked ball.”</p><p>“Ah, we do all enjoy those, Princess,” Egalmoth said from the end of the table.</p><p>“What about you, Tuor?” Turgon asked, “Do you enjoy balls?”</p><p>“I have never been to anything like it, your majesty.” A look of sadness came onto Tuor’s face. “The Grey Elves seldom played their music, lest the orcs or Easterlings discover us, and what songs they did sing were sad.”</p><p>Glorfindel saw a shadow cross Ecthelion’s face, and he said, “There will be no sad songs at the ball, I can promise you that.”</p><p>“No indeed,” Turgon murmured.</p><p>“Aye, you must ask Ecthelion to play for you himself, Tuor. He is quite the expert with the flute,” Penlod said.</p><p>“Really?” Tuor said, seeming interested.</p><p>“I can certainly play if requested,” Ecthelion said.</p><p>“He is being modest, Tuor, which, while lauded as one of his best qualities, does not do justice to his skill in this case. But you will see that at the ball, I am sure,” Glorfindel said, grinning at the slightly annoyed look Ecthelion gave him. Though his music was beautiful, he was not one to jump at playing in public - not unless pushed.</p><p>“I will look forward to it,” Tuor said. “But I suppose the main attraction of any ball must be the dancing, no?”</p><p>“It is indeed,” Glorfindel agreed.</p><p>“Are you a good dancer, Tuor?” Idril asked.</p><p>Tuor winced. “Ah, not exactly, my lady. I mean, I am proficient at dancing in the manner of the Grey Elves.”</p><p>“Such dances are a little more complicated here in Gondolin,” Maeglin said quietly.</p><p>Seeing the worry that flashed across the young Man’s face, Glorfindel said, “Give it week of dancing lessons from Olthedir, Tuor, and you will be prancing with the best of us!”</p><p>Tuor smiled at him, but said, “If I can just make it through the night without stepping on anyone’s toes, I shall count it as a success.”</p><p>“That sort of thing does tend to dissuade the ladies from asking you for a second dance,” Rog laughed.</p><p>“I am sure you can master it, Tuor,” Galdor said kindly.</p><p>“I shall have to; I cannot disappoint the ladies of Gondolin with my performance,” Tuor grinned.</p><p>“Of course not!” Rog exclaimed.</p><p>“Though it might be better to avoid entanglements of that kind - at least until you settle in,” Ecthelion said.</p><p>Glorfindel scoffed. “This from the man who does not believe in love.”</p><p>“You do not?” Tuor asked, his eyes widening.</p><p>“That is indeed quite the statement,” Turgon said, raising one eyebrow slightly.</p><p>“I did <em>not </em>say I do believe in love, Glorfindel,” Ecthelion said, glaring at him, “Only that I dislike the melodrama that so many others indulge in while supposedly gripped by passion.”</p><p>“So you dislike grand gestures?” Idril asked.</p><p>“I suppose you could say that,” Ecthelion said, “Take, for example, Harthedir’s proposal three months ago at the grand banquet. Was there any reason he could not have done that somewhere private? But he did it there, in front of everyone, because he wanted to be seen doing it.”</p><p>Glorfindel was already shaking his head. “The point is not to <em>be seen</em>, but to be <em>unashamed</em>. To show that you are in love and the whole world can know about it.”</p><p>“The young couples fondling each other in the shrubbery at every ball or feast certainly do not seem to mind the whole world knowing about it,” Ecthelion said archly.</p><p>“That is not what I am talking about and you know it, Ecthelion,” Glorfindel said, trying not to sound annoyed, “I mean <em>romantic </em>gestures, like anonymous notes or leaving flowers, or unlabelled gifts, things like that.”</p><p>“Like in the ballads? Knights riding under assumed names, strangers at the masked ball, that sort of thing?” Ecthelion said sceptically. “Or perhaps something like that play we saw at the last summer festival - a groom marrying his lover’s sister, only to discover she is really the woman herself, whom he thought dead?”</p><p>“Yes, that sort of thing,” Glorfindel said, nettled by Ecthelion’s incredulous tone. “Is it a crime to want a little romance in one’s life?”</p><p>“No,” Ecthelion said, frowning, “I did not mean-”</p><p>“I know <em>you </em>do not like such things, Ecthelion-” Glorfindel snapped, then cut himself off at the sharp look Idril gave him. Yes- best not to have a spat at dinner on the High Table, right in front of the King. “Anyway. Is that the dessert course?”</p><p>With his head turned, Glorfindel did not see the stricken, and then thoughtful look that passed over Ecthelion’s face.</p><p>~</p><p>The Grand Ballroom, usually a cavernous, quiet and empty space, came alive on nights like this. The huge room was full to bursting with people, lit on all sides by lamps that glowed with soft white light. People gathered to talk and watch at the room’s edges, while in the centre, couples swirled in a bright wave of colours around the floor. And besides the usual excitement, tonight there was another twist; everyone in attendance wore some sort of mask.</p><p>Glorfindel stood on the wide mezzanine balcony that overlooked the dance floor, leaning against the rail. He heard the music only distantly, letting the wheeling, dancing colours of dresses and robes hypnotise him - until he heard someone speak beside him. “Sorry, I-” was all he heard, before whoever it was cut off themselves off.</p><p>Glorfindel looked over. The thin black mask Tuor was wearing didn’t do much to disguise him; he was caught halfway between a step and standing still, as if he meant to walk away but couldn’t bring himself to just leave. “The balcony does not belong to me,” Glorfindel said, smiling at him. The young Man looked nervous, and Glorfindel could tell without asking that something was bothering him. “Are you not enjoying the party?”</p><p>“I-” Tuor stopped, then looked frustrated. “I was not aware this ball was thrown in celebration of my arrival,” he bit out.</p><p>Glorfindel tilted his head. “Surely that was obvious?”</p><p>“No, I-” Tuor stopped again, hissing out a breath. “I have never been to a ball, my lord. The Grey Elves did not even hold dances more than once a year. I do not know the rules, for this sort of…event.”</p><p>Glorfindel stood up straighter. “Well, then - since this ball is thrown in your honour, if you will allow me, might I give you a few pointers?”</p><p>“It would be most gracious of you.”</p><p>“More like it will be a chance for me to talk about one of my favourite subjects.” Glorfindel motioned toward the balcony railing, and Tuor came to stand against it next to him. “Firstly - I assume someone has explained our system of hierarchy to you?”</p><p>Tuor made a face. “Voronwë has attempted to.”</p><p>“Well, the first rule is that you cannot ask someone who is of higher status to dance; you may only ask those of lower or equal status. Your status is a little hard to define, but as a lord among your own people and an honoured guest of the King, there are more than a few who would not be insulted by a request.”</p><p>Tuor was nodding. “Voronwë told me that part of the excitement over these masks is that they mean that particular rule is relaxed for the night.”</p><p>“You are correct. On any other night, you would need to be careful to whom you made an offer to dance; tonight, that is not so.” Glorfindel smiled. “I can only imagine that is because this ball was designed with you in mind.”</p><p>“It was incredibly kind of the Princess, if that is so.”</p><p>“Yes, but that is exactly the sort of thing she would take into consideration.” Tuor still looked apprehensive, so Glorfindel continued, “Still, since we are here, I will give you an example for future reference. Take Ealoth, Lady Kalin’s daughter - the young lady in the blue and silver dress there, with the mask covered in feathers. Kalin’s family are a minor House appended to the House of the Tower, so you would probably even be safe to ask Kalin herself, but you would be certain of your reception with Ealoth. She is also unmarried,” he added, raising his eyebrows at Tuor.</p><p>Tuor laughed. “I did promise not to disappoint the young ladies of Gondolin, did I not?”</p><p>“Did the dancing lessons help any?”</p><p>“A little, I think. Still, not enough for me to be entirely confident.”</p><p>“You will never know until you try.”</p><p>“True enough.” Tuor shook his head. “Ah, but maybe I should wait, as Ecthelion said. It would not do to embarrass myself by making overtures to a lady, not before I know the rules and social niceties here.”</p><p>“I would not listen to Ecthelion on such matters,” Glorfindel said, feeling his annoyance at his friend rear its head again. “Sometimes I think he cares only for taxes and pleasing the King,” he added, surprising even himself with how bitter his words sounded.</p><p>“I probably should not say this, but I think Voronwë agrees with you,” Tuor said. “I believe ‘all the passion of a dead fish’ were his exact words.”</p><p>“Nay, that is the worst part, for if that were true then he would merely be boring. He <em>does </em>have passion - but he hides it so thoroughly that it may as well not be there at all.”</p><p>“So he only trusts a select few to see his true self,” Tuor said. “Surely that just means he is shy, or private?”</p><p>“Aye, but it means that people who do not truly know him - your Voronwë, for example - see only the most boring, drab parts of his personality.”</p><p>“Like taxes and pleasing the King,” Tuor said.</p><p>“You have it exactly. As I told you before, he performs and composes beautiful music for the flute, and that is the <em>only </em>private, passionate part of himself he puts on display. If he did not I think the people of Gondolin might think he had no soul at all!”</p><p>“Who has no soul?” a new voice asked.</p><p>They both turned. Behind them stood Idril, resplendent in green and gold, her mask covered in precious gems meant to imitate a flower-filled meadow. An emerald-studded diadem twinkled in her hair as she tilted her head. “Are you insulting Ecthelion, Glorfindel?”</p><p>Glorfindel did not miss the way Tuor went bright red and dropped his gaze as soon as the princess appeared. <em>Interesting</em>. “No, princess, merely lamenting that he does not allow more people to see and love him as we do,” Glorfindel said, bowing to her.</p><p>“He has a right to allow only certain people in, Glorfindel,” Idril said flatly, giving him a look. “But surely it is something to be cherished, that you are one of the few allowed to see that side of him?”</p><p>“Maybe - but it does irk me, to hear people insult him behind his back, to hear them accuse him of being what he is not,” Glorfindel said.</p><p>“Aye, anyone would be irked by that. But you cannot force him to change, no matter how protective of him you feel.”</p><p>“Yes, I suppose I cannot,” Glorfindel said, feeling all of a sudden dispirited. He forced a smile and said, “Come, do not let me spoil the mood. Is the ball going to your satisfaction, princess?”</p><p>Idril allowed him to get away with changing the subject, smiling slightly as she said, “It is, actually. I even convinced Father to wear a mask, though he was not happy about it.” Her eyes shifted to Tuor. “But I came here to check on you, Tuor son of Huor. Are you enjoying the ball?”</p><p>“It is magnificent, your highness,” Tuor said quietly.</p><p>“We were in fact just discussing which charming partner Tuor might dance with next,” Glorfindel said.</p><p>“Then allow me to make the decision for you,” Idril said, holding out her hand. “I would be honoured if you would dance with me, Tuor son of Huor.</p><p>For a moment Tuor seemed frozen; then he hurriedly nodded and took her hand, adding, “Of course, yes, it is an honour,” almost as an afterthought. Glorfindel couldn’t help but laugh to himself as she led him off down the stairs.</p><p>Later, when Glorfindel had danced a lot and drunk a lot more, he stood at the edge of the ballroom, watching as couple after couple floated by. The dancing and music showed no sign of stopping despite the late hour, and until the King retired for the night they were unlikely to slow down at all. Glorfindel could see Turgon at the other end of the ballroom, deep in conversation with one of his scholars, and smiled to himself. If they had gotten started on some deep, intellectual conversation, the party could go on all night.</p><p>A voice said from beside him, “Might I have the next dance?”</p><p>Most attendees of the ball had chosen masks that didn’t do much to hide their faces, but the person Glorfindel turned to face was the exception to the rule. Fashioned in the shape of a raven’s head, the mask completely obscured their face, with feathers trailing back over most of their head. It was exquisitely crafted, and unsettlingly lifelike.</p><p>Intrigued, Glorfindel said, “I would be honoured,” and took their outstretched hand.</p><p>The strains of another, slower tune were starting as the mysterious stranger led him out onto the dance floor. As they gave each other a respectful bow at the start of the dance, Glorfindel tried to glean anything at all about him from his height or bearing. He was about the same height as Glorfindel, but that could have described many men in Gondolin; something about his bearing and manner of walking were familiar, but Glorfindel could not put a name to his suspicions. “You have me at quite the disadvantage, sir,” he said as they began the first steps.</p><p>“Is that not the idea behind the masks?” the stranger asked. His voice was muffled and distorted by the mask, and slightly strained in a way that made Glorfindel sure he was intentionally lowering it to avoid being recognised.</p><p>“True, but you have taken it more literally than most.”</p><p>“I believe I have heard you say yourself that doing things by half-measures is no fun,” the stranger said.</p><p>Glorfindel laughed, but his mind squirrelled away that little piece of information. He could not remember a particular occasional upon which he’d said that exact phrase, but that confirmed that the stranger had at least been in his presence long enough to overhear - or maybe participate in - a conversation with him.</p><p>“That is true,” he said, allowing the stranger to draw him into a spinning step, “And I admit I am now quite amused and intrigued by the conundrum of working out your identity.”</p><p>“I had doubted whether I would be able to fool you, but I am glad my efforts were not for naught.”</p><p>“If I might ask - why were they necessary?”</p><p>The stranger paused for a moment before answering. “For the mystery, of course.”</p><p>“Ah, so your intent is simply to intrigue.” They stepped away, back, and spun together again. “Will you allow me a question? Have I danced with you before?”</p><p>“Rarely.”</p><p>“Only rarely?”</p><p>“I do not often dance, as a rule.”</p><p>“I cannot think that is true, for certainly you are accomplished,” Glorfindel said as they slid smoothly from one step to the next, their bodies touching briefly before drawing apart again. When the stranger didn’t answer, Glorfindel continued, “Ah, but perhaps, sir, you are simply trying to throw me off the scent, and you are in fact a frequent dancer in these halls.”</p><p>“Perhaps I am,” the stranger said.</p><p>“Your intrigues grow and grow.” They linked arms and spun in a tight circle, their faces close together. Glorfindel could see nothing of the stranger’s face save his eyes, glinting through the eye holes of the mask. They were grey, maybe - he could not say for sure. “I know you,” he said, his voice lower, “I am sure of it.”</p><p>“You do,” was all the stranger said.</p><p>“Then why would you not openly ask me to dance?”</p><p>“Why does any man hide his face?” the stranger asked, drawing Glorfindel into another close spin. “For one night, he wants to be someone other than who he is.”</p><p>Glorfindel was still trying to form a reply to that when the stranger stopped, and he realised with a start that the music had finished, and people were clapping. The stranger took his hand bowed over it, his posture stiff and formal, then turned to walk away.</p><p>“Wait!” Glorfindel called - but the stranger disappeared like a ghost into the pressing crowd milling about the dance floor. When Glorfindel finally made it to the quieter, less crowded edges of the ballroom, he was nowhere to be seen. “Dammit,” Glorfindel muttered. He went out through the glass doors that led into the darkened formal gardens, but only a few people were outside taking the air, and there was no one in a raven mask.</p><p>“There you are!” Idril’s voice said behind him. When he turned to face her, Glorfindel saw she was leaning out of one of the open glass doors, beckoning to him. He came closer and let her pull him back into the the ballroom as she said, “You know what I am going to ask.”</p><p>“I have no idea who he was,” Glorfindel said, “He seemed so familiar, and yet…”</p><p>“And you just let him walk away?” Idril said incredulously.</p><p>“It is not as if I could have pulled the mask from his face in the middle of the dance floor,” Glorfindel said irritably. When Idril raised her eyebrows at him, he sighed and said, “And yes, I was too slow to stop him just walking off. And then I lost him in the crowd.”</p><p>“Come,” Idril said, taking his arm, “I am going to get you a drink, and you are going to tell me all about it.”</p><p>/</p><p>Reunited the next morning with some of his sharper faculties, Glorfindel set to work instantly on the puzzle of the mysterious stranger.</p><p>He had little to go on. The stranger had been as tall as him, with a familiar gait; his dark hair, probably-grey eyes and accent suggested he was Noldorin by descent. He was a good dancer, though he claimed not to be, and they had supposedly danced before, though only ‘rarely’. Most interesting was his admission that he intended to be mysterious just so Glorfindel would wonder who he was.</p><p>“At least he confirmed you know him; that is a step in the right direction,” Idril said.</p><p>The day was clear and beautiful, which wasn’t doing much for Glorfindel’s headache, though the cool breeze in his face was nice. He, Rog and Idril were sitting on one of the wide palace balconies, a half-finished breakfast spread out in front of them.</p><p>The night before he and Idril had spent so long debating every detail of his encounter with the mysterious stranger that it was nearly dawn by the time he felt tired enough to sleep, at which point Idril had offered him a guest room in the palace. The next morning a rather sheepish Rog had met him in the hallway outside his room, and after explaining that he’d had to be shepherded to a guest room at the end of the night, Glorfindel had laughed for what felt like a full five minutes before inviting him to breakfast.</p><p>“I <em>know </em>half the people in the city,” Glorfindel said, exasperated. “He could be a hundred different people.”</p><p>“All at once?” Rog asked, and chuckled at the withering look Glorfindel sent his way.</p><p>“Maybe it was one of your soldiers or servants,” Idril said, “That would explain why you found them so familiar, and why it would not normally be acceptable for him to dance with you.”</p><p>Glorfindel shook his head. “Nay, he said we had danced together before, remember?”</p><p>“Maybe it was Maeglin,” Rog laughed.</p><p>Glorfindel made a face. “I think I would have recognised him, at least. Maybe I should just start asking all my previous dance partners?”</p><p>“That would be entirely too obvious,” Idril said, shaking her head. “Not to mention you have probably danced with hundreds of people over the years. Maybe you should try just keeping your eyes open?”</p><p>“Unlikely,” Rog snorted, and Glorfindel resisted the urge to throw something at him.</p><p>He was saved from replying by a voice from the door of the balcony. “The party continues this morning, I see,” Galdor said as he walked out toward them.</p><p>“We are debating a matter of utmost importance, my friend,” Rog said, kicking out a chair so he could sit down. Then he summarised Glorfindel’s encounter with the mysterious stranger, letting Glorfindel put in corrections or more details here and there. “So,” Rog finished, “Any guesses?”</p><p>Galdor looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well, surely the most obvious answer is that it was someone who overheard your conversation with Ecthelion, the night Tuor arrived?”</p><p>Glorfindel winced. He still had not spoken to Ecthelion after that, and his friend had not come to see him either. He had hoped they might bury any ill-feeling at the ball, but he had only spotted him one or twice, always from a distance.</p><p>“I cannot believe we missed that,” Idril said, shaking her head.</p><p>“This is why we need you here always, Galdor,” Rog said, clapping him on the shoulder.</p><p>“Or maybe this is why you need to stop drinking so much wine at balls,” Galdor said, which only made Rog laugh.</p><p>“There were fourteen of us at the High Table that night,” Idril said. She fixed Rog and Galdor with a glare. “I assume we can take it as a given that neither of you were behind the raven mask?”</p><p>They both shook their heads. “Lovely as Glorfindel is, I already have a wife,” Galdor said.</p><p>“And he was not bulky or tall enough to be Rog,” Glorfindel said. “Not tall enough to be the King either, and not short enough to be Duilin.”</p><p>“It was a man, so that obviously rules out myself, Lady Melva and Lady Ramamë,” Idril said, naming Galdor and Salgant’s wives. “If I recall, Salgant is also shorter than you, Glorfindel, and also married, so that rules him out.”</p><p>“Which leaves Egalmoth, Tuor, Ecthelion, and Penlod,” Glorfindel said.</p><p>“And Maeglin,” Rog reminded him, grinning.</p><p>“Aye,” Glorfindel said shortly. “I saw all of them earlier in the evening wearing different clothes, so if it was one of them, they must have left at some point to change.”</p><p>They all sat in silent thought for a moment. “Does anyone have any reason it <em>could not </em>be one of them?” Idril asked.</p><p>“You know Egalmoth well, do you not, Galdor? Could it have been him?” Rog asked.</p><p>“Aye, I could certainly see him playing the dashing, mysterious stranger,” Galdor said.</p><p>“You may jest about him, but I highly doubt it was my cousin,” Idril said, “I have never known him to be romantically interested in anybody.”</p><p>“You never know,” Rog said, “Still waters run deep.”</p><p>“Maybe so, but I cannot imagine this is how Maeglin would go about announcing it,” Idril said.</p><p>“So that leaves Ecthelion and Penlod,” Galdor said.</p><p>Glorfindel snorted. “There is no way in Arda that it was Ecthelion. He said himself that he finds all such things to be silly beyond measure. As if he would do anything ‘for the mystery’!”</p><p>“He could have changed his mind,” Idril said.</p><p>“In the space of a week?” Glorfindel shook his head. “No, there is simply no way it could be Ecthelion; it would be entirely out of character.”</p><p>“We will take your word for it,” Idril said, though she did not sound entirely convinced. “What about Penlod, then? I am afraid I do not know him all that well - at least, not enough to know if he would do something like this.”</p><p>It was generally agreed that none of them knew Penlod well enough to guess, so Rog agreed that he would ask Duilin, who was a much closer friend of Penlod’s than any of them.</p><p>“That leaves Tuor,” Idril said, “The real mystery element.”</p><p>From the way he had blushed and stammered in her presence, Glorfindel highly doubted the raven-masked man had been Tuor, but he did not want to embarrass the young Man by telling Idril that. “It could have been him, I suppose, though it would be a bold move for one so newly arrived.”</p><p>“But he is, as the Princess said, almost completely a mystery to us,” Galdor said.</p><p>“Indeed.” Glorfindel sighed, then stood up. “Well, lovely as this is, my friends, I should go. Who knows what state my House has gotten into in my absence.”</p><p>Idril inclined her head. “I hope you do not mind if I keep looking for clues. I was not even the one he danced with, and I am still finding this all very exciting.”</p><p>“Be my guest, Princess,” Glorfindel said, “Indeed, the more the merrier.”</p><p>/</p><p>Seated next to Glorfindel in the stands surrounding the tiltyard, Tuor said quietly, “I believe I may have slightly underestimated the importance of this event.”</p><p>“What do you mean?” Glorfindel asked.</p><p>“Well.” Tuor gestured to the scene in front of them. “Just… look.”</p><p>Only once every ten years were tournaments such as this held in Gondolin, and it was true that the scene in front of them was impressive. The tiltyard had been set up just outside the city walls, comprising a long thin strip of beaten earth with a barrier running down the centre and tall viewing stands rising on both sides. At either end were large pavilions where competitors could equip themselves and wait for their turn, as well as small enclosures for the horses.</p><p>“Did you think it would be small?” Glorfindel asked, amused.</p><p>“Well, Ecthelion made it sound rather commonplace, in his description.”</p><p>“Why am I not surprised,” Glorfindel said, rolling his eyes. “These tournaments only happen every ten rotations of the sun, and they are an opportunity not to be missed.”</p><p>Tuor eyed the lists with some trepidation. “I have never tried my hand at such a sport.”</p><p>“Well, attend closely, and I will try to explain the theory and tactics behind it. Perhaps later, if we have time, we can get you up onto a horse yourself.” Seeing Tuor’s eyes dart to the watching crowds, Glorfindel added, “Somewhere private, of course.”</p><p>“That is kind of you to offer, my lord,” Tuor said.</p><p>“Any nobleman of the city should be able to joust. Look, here come the first pair - see their lances? The aim is to hit your opponent square in the chest, thus either unseating him or shattering your own lance…”</p><p>They spent most of the morning in the same way, Glorfindel dissecting each jouster’s performance while Tuor listened intently. It reminded Glorfindel of how he had once sat beside his father at the lists just outside Tirion, listening as he imparted all the knowledge he could to his only son, and a tendril of sharp grief stirred in his chest.</p><p>It was nearing the end of the event when Glorfindel heard whispers stirring throughout the crowd. There seemed to be some confusion, so he asked the nobleman sitting in front of him, “Good sir, what is it that causes such agitation among the spectators?”</p><p>“An unfamiliar name, my lord, was just announced by the herald,” the man answered. “A certain ‘Sir Corco’. Is he someone my lord has heard of?”</p><p>“No,” Glorfindel said, though he could feel an odd combination of excitement and nerves stir in his gut. Corco - in Quenya, that meant Raven. “Is he to ride next?”</p><p>“Aye, my lord, against Sir Alvien.”</p><p>Glorfindel said his thanks and sat back in his seat, and could feel Tuor looking at him. “Corco… do you think…”</p><p>Even as he said it the next competitors rode in, and the man known as Sir Corco paraded down the field, a raven in flight emblazoned on his shield, his helm shaped like the head of a raven. “I do,” Glorfindel said, his eyes fixed on the rider. “Sir Raven, indeed. The mystery deepens. Well, our Sir Raven is an accomplished dancer - let us see if he is as good with horse and lance.”</p><p>He was, it seemed. There was no need for the combatants to ride the full three tilts; on the first both struck and their lances remained intact, but on the second Sir Corco scored a solid hit on his opponent, shattering his lance and unseating the other rider. The stands exploded in cheers, and after a perfunctory wave to them, the mysterious knight vanished back into the pavilion at his end of the field.</p><p>“Is he to ride again today?” Tuor asked.</p><p>Glorfindel scanned the sheet of names he’d been given, and shook his head. “But no doubt he will ride tomorrow, after that performance. We will have to wait until tomorrow morning to find out who he rides against.”</p><p>“You ride in the lists yourself tomorrow, no?”</p><p>“I do,” Glorfindel said, “And if I have my way, I will ride against him before the tournament ends.”</p><p>“Just as you danced with him at the ball?”</p><p>“Aye,” Glorfindel said cautiously, eyeing the thoughtful look that had come onto Tuor’s face.</p><p>“It is only- can it be a coincidence, that not two weeks ago we were speaking about your appreciation for tales in which knights ride or dance under an assumed identity, and now a man appears to dance and ride under a false name?”</p><p>“Aye, I had this same discussion with Rog, Idril and Galdor the morning after the ball. We drew up a list of five potential candidates, based on who was in attendance at that dinner.” Glorfindel gave him a sly grin. “Your name was on that list, as I recall.”</p><p>Tuor laughed. “Nay, I would never have the courage.”</p><p>“And obviously you are not Sir Corco, so that is one name crossed off the list.”</p><p>“Who are the others?”</p><p>“Egalmoth, Ecthelion, Penlod and Maeglin.”</p><p>“Would all of them have been able to produce the performance we just saw?” Tuor asked, nodding toward the lists.</p><p>“Aye, they are all accomplished jousters.”</p><p>Tuor scanned the list of competitors. “It appears all of them are riding under their own names.”</p><p>“So if it is one of them, they must be entered twice.” Glorfindel frowned, thinking. “I said as much to the others, but I highly doubt it is Maeglin. He has never shown any interest in that direction, and he is far too competitive to compete under an assumed name.”</p><p>“Have any of the others shown an interest?” Tuor asked.</p><p>Glorfindel winced. “Well, no. So far as that goes, it could still be any of them.”</p><p>“What a conundrum.” Tuor sat back in his seat, watching as another pair of riders came trotting down the lists. “Whoever it is, they are hiding their tracks well.”</p><p>Glorfindel sighed. “Indeed, they certainly are.”</p><p>/</p><p>The mystery of Sir Corco was on everyone’s lips that night at the tourney feast. Glorfindel strategically sat himself next to Lady Ramamë’s mother, Lady Yalissë, who was well known as a terrible gossip - and she did not disappoint.</p><p>“He came into the pavilion armed and armoured and with his face already covered, so they say. Apparently he paused only a moment for his name to be announced before he mounted his horse, and when the tilt was done he disappeared so fast that no one could stop him or learn anything more about him.” Yalissë smiled as she leant forward and said conspiratorially, “But of course, who could fail to connect him to the mysterious stranger in a raven mask who danced with you yourself, my lord, at the masked ball not a week hence?”</p><p>“Exactly, my lady,” Glorfindel said. “And will someone accost him when he appears tomorrow, do you think?”</p><p>“Why, that would ruin the surprise! No, traditionally one must wait for an anonymous knight to reveal himself. But,” Yalissë smiled slyly, “no one is prohibited from asking him questions.”</p><p>“With which to guess his identity, of course,” Glorfindel said.</p><p>“Indeed. My, I do not think anyone has entered the lists under an assumed name since we were in the Blessed Land - it was a common practise then. But of course, my lord must remember it!”</p><p>“I do remember some riders concealing their identities, aye.”</p><p>Yalissë sounded dreamy as she said, “The romance, the drama of it all! You should have seen the tournaments in Aman, Ramamë; they were something to behold, were they not, my lord? All that pageantry and valour…”</p><p>“I am sure they were beautiful,” Ramamë said, longing in her voice. “I wish I too could have seen them.”</p><p>“Yes, yes indeed. Did you know, Lord Glorfindel, that my third cousin, who was once a squire to a lord in Valmar, saw King Ingwë ride several times? He was not known as a keen jouster, but my cousin said he could keep up with the best!”</p><p> “Truly, mother?” Ramamë asked.</p><p>“Yes, and-”</p><p>Yalissë kept speaking, but Glorfindel only half-listened, mostly focused on his food. Ramamë seemed an eager enough audience for her stories; and indeed, the rest of the night went by without much incident, save for a rather protracted debate about musical compositions between Salgant and Ramamë. They seemed to enjoy themselves immensely, but to Glorfindel, who knew neither the individual pieces or their composers, it was as if they were speaking in tongues. For once Glorfindel was glad when the end of the feast was called, and he could politely take his leave.</p><p>Still, it had been worth it for the information on Sir Corco, however scant.</p><p>/</p><p>The thought of how to figure out Sir Corco’s identity consumed Glorfindel for the next few days, even as he rode in the jousting and won, and even as he spent hours watching the tournament from a prime position in the stands. Sir Corco himself reappeared twice more, winning both his matches and stirring up a storm of gossip. Yalissë, when Glorfindel spoke with her over lunch on the third day, seemed to have her ear to the ground in that regard, and reported that each time he appeared Corco entered and left the pavilion as swiftly as he had on the first day, politely putting off anyone who tried to speak with him. “His accent was Noldorin,” she said, “and that is about all anyone could glean.”</p><p>Noldorin, the same accent as the masked stranger from the ball - and three of his candidates. Much as he tried, Maeglin couldn’t hide the distinct Sindarin burr in his accent, which was yet more evidence that he was the least likely candidate. Glorfindel couldn’t deny that the thought brought him no small amount of relief.</p><p>Glorfindel’s success in the lists meant he had hope of testing his lance against Sir Corco’s - right up until the third day, when he found himself rolling in the dirt of the tiltyard, his horse skittering away down the list.</p><p>“Damn it,” he muttered, sitting up and rubbing his arm. That put paid to his hope of meeting Corco in the jousting; he would have to wait until the melee.</p><p>He heard hoof beats, and Duilin, who had been his opponent, drew up on the other side of the barrier. “Are you alright, Glorfindel?” he called.</p><p>“Aye, aye,” Glorfindel said, levering himself up from the ground, “A good strike.”</p><p>“More a surprising one; I do not often see you unseated.”</p><p>“My pride can take a roll in the dirt,” Glorfindel said, mustering up a grin.</p><p>Duilin smiled back at him. “You only laugh because you know I must face Galdor next, and I may indeed end up in exactly your position now.”</p><p>“You may indeed - but I will cheer you on, my friend.”</p><p>In the end Glorfindel’s cheers did little to affect the result, for though Duilin managed to keep his seat on his horse, Galdor broke two lances against his shield and won their contest. The only balm to Glorfindel’s annoyance was that Sir Corco was also knocked out in his next round, meaning that even had Glorfindel won, they would not have faced each other. It was, then, all down to the melee.</p><p>Turgon had banned the mounted melee from this tournament, citing its danger to their limited stock of horses. Glorfindel preferred fighting on foot to fighting on horseback, so that suited him just fine. The same tiltyard that had housed the jousting had been cleared and prepared, and a large pavilion set up for the contestants to arm and armour themselves. It was hot and stuffy and full of the smell of oil, leather and metal when Glorfindel entered it on the morning of the melee, finding it already full of bodies and noise. As the lord of one of the twelve Houses, he had no need to worry about space, as a section near the back wall had been partitioned off for their use. There he found Rog and Galdor, both already suited and armed, explaining the rules of the game to a somewhat nervous-looking Tuor.</p><p>“Dragging your feet this morning, were you, Glorfindel?” Rog asked.</p><p>“You know yourself that you are almost two hours early,” Glorfindel said.</p><p>“I cannot fight in cold, stiff armour!”</p><p>“There are many tactics and superstitions involved in the melee,” Galdor explained to Tuor, “Rog has always maintained that getting into his armour early and warming up in it gives him an advantage.”</p><p>“I can see the merit in that,” Tuor said.</p><p>“See; one among you is smart,” Rog said, grinning at Tuor.</p><p>Tuor smiled back at him, but Glorfindel could still see the nerves in it. When Galdor and Rog were distracted he said lowly, “You are not required to participate, if you would rather not.”</p><p>Tuor hesitated before saying, “It is not that I do not think I can hold my own - only I worry about causing harm by accident. My blade is blunt, but…”</p><p>“Everyone competing knows the risk they are taking,” Glorfindel assured him. “Everyone expects to leave the melee with at least a few bruises.”</p><p>Tuor nodded. “Then I suppose I shall swing with abandon.”</p><p>“Everyone here is eager to see how you fight, so do your best,” Glorfindel said, smiling.</p><p>Once he was in his own armour and warmed up, Glorfindel spent the rest of his time pacing their partitioned off area, watching the crowd. He saw no sign of Sir Corco. <em>Is it possible that he does not intend to compete? </em>he thought.</p><p>It was nearing the starting time when Glorfindel asked, “Are we the only ones entering the field, out of the ten of us?”</p><p>Galdor shrugged. “I have seen no sign of the others.” Then his eyes sharpened with interest. “Ah, but you are watching for the mysterious Sir Corco, are you not?”</p><p>Glorfindel nodded. “If none of them fight under their own names, it could be any one of them.”</p><p>“True - though Egalmoth does not often fight in the melee. He prefers the archery contest,” Galdor said.</p><p>“Still, I have crossed swords with him, and he is no slouch. He could enter the melee if he chose,” Rog said.</p><p>“So - Egalmoth, Penlod, or Ecthelion,” Tuor said. “Is that the right list?”</p><p>Glorfindel nodded. “That is, if Sir Corco is even going to turn up.”</p><p>“It would be a poor ending to the story if he did not!” Rog said, and the others agreed.</p><p>Despite his attention, Glorfindel saw no sign of Sir Corco until they stepped out onto a field bright with afternoon sun, the air full of cheers from the spectators who lined the stands. But as all the competitors lined up for the formal bow to the King, Glorfindel saw a figure slip in at the end of the line - a figure in a raven-shaped helm. <em>So we </em>will <em>face each other, Sir Raven</em>, Glorfindel thought, smiling with satisfaction.</p><p> There were many competitors, and it was every man for himself - which, of course, meant that the beginning of the fight was absolute chaos. Half the time the skill was more in keeping your feet and dodging than actually landing enough hits to down an opponent. Glorfindel let himself sink into that sharp, singular focus that came with battle, as he dodged and ducked, swung and hit. He saw Rog in the fray and angled away from him, knowing exactly what it felt like to get hit with that hammer.</p><p>The field cleared as people fell or yielded, limping or being carried off toward the safety of the pavilion. The mass chaos of the fight slowly dwindled until people were fighting in small groups, then twos and threes, then one on one. Glorfindel lost sight of anything but his immediate surroundings, attuned only to the man in front of him and the ground beneath his feet, always watching for who might come at him from behind or the side. In the end it was a surprise to turn and find only one opponent still standing.</p><p>He had lost his shield, but the eyes of his raven helm glinted, the edges of the metal feathers sparkling in the sun.</p><p>Glorfindel raised his sword, circling him. “When I beat you, you are going to tell me who you are,” he said, panting.</p><p>“If,” Sir Corco said, raising his own sword.</p><p>“Let us see.” With that, Glorfindel leapt at him.</p><p>They traded fast blows, Glorfindel testing the speed and strength of his enemy’s arm and finding it a match for his own. Again they retreated and circled, and again they launched back in, trading another quick flurry. Distantly Glorfindel could now hear the cheering of the crowd above the clash of metal on metal, but he paid it no mind. Everything in him was focused on this fight, on attackblockparryattack, on the swing and movement and dance-</p><p><em>I have fought him before</em>, Glorfindel thought as he blocked another swing, <em>I recognise his style. I have fought him </em>many <em>times, but who-</em></p><p>
  
</p><p>Of course, his moment of distraction cost him; a strong blow to his wrist and a foot hooked under his ankle sent him sprawling to the mud, his sword flying out of his hand.</p><p>There was a long moment in which they both stared at each other, heedless of the roar of the crowd; then Glorfindel sat up and cursed, even as the stranger offered an arm to pull him to his feet.</p><p>Glorfindel took it. “Well, you have now bested me on the dance floor and on the field of battle,” he said as he stood, unable to hide the irritation in his voice. “Am I finally allowed to look upon your face?”</p><p>“You are,” the stranger said, and his voice was familiar, more familiar than before - and then he reached up to his helm. The crowd’s hushed anticipation matched the sudden rush of nerves in Glorfindel’s stomach. Now he would finally, <em>finally </em>know-</p><p>And then the helm was off, and Glorfindel stood rooted to the spot, staring.</p><p>It was Ecthelion.</p><p>For a long, breathless moment they stood, staring at each other. Glorfindel realised that he had, without even realising it, completely dismissed any possibility of the raven-masked man being Ecthelion. He had fully expected Sir Corco to pull off his helm to reveal Egalmoth, or Penlod, or any number of other knights who just so happened to have found out about his penchant for this particular kind of mystery. He had not for one moment expected solid, sensible Ecthelion - Ecthelion, who had openly <em>mocked </em>such things - to be the one behind the mask.</p><p>“I am sorry,” Ecthelion panted, still out of breath, “I should- I had intended to come up with something to say, here, something grand, grand and- well-”</p><p>There were people coming - Tuor and the others, a representative from the King - but though he had barely a minute more, Glorfindel felt like his tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth. “I do not understand,” he said quietly.</p><p>Ecthelion winced. “I- I should explain myself. Glorfindel, I wanted to show you-”</p><p>“The Raven revealed!” Rog’s voice shouted, and Glorfindel knew they were out of time.</p><p>Ecthelion stared at him for a moment more, his mouth still open; then he turned to look at Rog, who had a noticeable limp and was leaning on Galdor, who was himself already sporting an impressive black eye. “Good to see you are still in high spirits, Rog,” he said, though his light tone sounded strained.</p><p>“Aye, you gave me quite the hit, but I took it! You on the other hand-”</p><p>Rog kept talking, but Glorfindel stopped hearing his voice. His head was buzzing, unable to think properly through the shock and confusion, and a sudden chorus of aches and sharp pains had sprung up all across his body. Formerly suppressed by the rush of the fight, they were now announcing themselves to him in a rather loud and uncomfortable manner.</p><p>“Are you well, Glorfindel?” he heard Tuor ask quietly.</p><p>“Aye,” Glorfindel murmured, and waved the Man off when he made to walk back to the pavilion with him. For just a moment, he wanted to be alone.</p><p>His mind spun as he limped across the now empty field, filled with thoughts of Ecthelion. He had dismissed him so completely every time he ran through the list of possible candidates in his head; his friend had fooled him utterly.</p><p>But <em>why</em>?</p><p>There was the obvious answer, of course, but that simply seemed preposterous to Glorfindel. Ecthelion had been his friend for years, and he had never displayed any romantic intentions - unless Glorfindel simply had not noticed them?</p><p>There was a horrible, sick sinking feeling in his stomach, and the more Glorfindel tried to ignore it, the more it grew. Ecthelion had derided and mocked the tales and ballads of courtly romance - had his imitation of them been nothing more than a mummer’s play, a mockery? Glorfindel had never in all their years known him to be that cruel, but the thought persisted, twisting like a knife in his gut.</p><p>“I wanted to show you.” Those had been Ecthelion’s words. What exactly, had he wanted to show him?</p><p><em>I wanted to show you how foolish all this frippery is</em>, Glorfindel thought, hearing the words in Ecthelion’s voice. <em>He cannot have meant it like that.</em> But still the thought consumed him as he stepped into the pavilion.</p><p>Inside was the usual chaos of removing armour and tending to wounds; Glorfindel received and acknowledged a few congratulations as he shouldered his way through the crowd toward his squire, who was standing ready to help him take off his armour.</p><p>His squire seemed like he wanted to say something, but he held it in until they were about halfway through removing the armour, when the question seemed to burst out of him like water from a pierced skin. “Is it true that Lord Ecthelion was revealed as Sir Corco, my lord?” the boy asked. “Only, it was quite hard to see his face from this distance.”</p><p>“It is,” Glorfindel said.</p><p>“And you were the last man standing, besides him! That was quite the fight to watch, my lord.”</p><p>“Thank you, Orno.”</p><p>Orno chattered on about the fight and the tournament, and Glorfindel let him, the boy’s innocent dreams and concerns a welcome distraction for the moment. Once Glorfindel was in a new set of clothes and had extracted a promise from Orno to wash and polish his armour properly - unlike last time, when he’d gotten distracted by all the food handed out at the prize-giving feast - Glorfindel left the pavilion.</p><p>He could see the others gathered at the base of the stands, ready for the prize-giving ceremony. There was a prize waiting for him there, and he knew Turgon would be irritated if he did not appear to collect it; but everything in Glorfindel did not want to step out there, in front of the hundreds of eyes, the hundreds of minds wondering the same as he was - <em>why</em>.</p><p>Why had Lord Ecthelion disguised himself and danced with Lord Glorfindel? Why had he ridden under an assumed name in the jousting? What words had been exchanged between them, as they stood alone on the field at the end of the melee?</p><p><em>I cannot face it</em>, Glorfindel thought - and, alone, he turned and walked back toward the city.</p><p>/</p><p>It was later that night, after he had bathed and eaten and was about ready to turn in, that a servant appeared and announced, “Lord Ecthelion is here to see you, my lord.”</p><p>Glorfindel, sitting in nothing more than a loose shirt and reading a book, stared at him for a moment. “Now?”</p><p>“Aye, my lord. He said it cannot wait.”</p><p><em>What now? </em>Glorfindel heaved himself up from his chair. “Give me a moment to dress, and I will be right down.”</p><p>He found Ecthelion pacing back and forth before the roaring fireplace in one of his parlours. “You should be enjoying the festivities, as the winner of the melee,” Glorfindel said, trying to stamp on the roil of nerves and unfounded hurt in his stomach.</p><p>Ecthelion stopped and looked at him for a minute, seeming to struggle with what to say. “So should you, as the runner-up,” he said eventually.</p><p>“I… was not really in the mood.”</p><p>It felt strange, this cold, forced conversation. The spectre of the raven mask seemed to hang between them, silent and accusing.</p><p>“I can imagine not,” Ecthelion said quietly. He swallowed and added, “Forgive me; I should have explained it all on the tourney field.”</p><p>“We did not have a lot of time,” Glorfindel allowed.</p><p>“Maybe, but I should not have let you walk away like that.”</p><p>Glorfindel tried to smile. “You know, from anyone else this might have come off as mockery.”</p><p>Ecthelion looked stricken. “Glorfindel, that is the opposite- damn it,” he shook his head, “I am <em>never </em>letting Penlod talk me into anything like this ever again.”</p><p>“Maybe we should sit down and you should tell me what happened, from start to finish,” Glorfindel said.</p><p>Ecthelion sank slowly into a chair, and looked down at his hands for a moment before saying, “There is not that much to tell. I was eating with Penlod and Duilin the morning after Tuor’s welcome feast, bemoaning my stupidity for having insulted you, when Penlod told me that this was an opportunity, not a mistake. He pushed me into the whole thing - at the ball, at the tourney.” Ecthelion snorted. “I needed a lot of pushing.”</p><p>Glorfindel frowned at him. “So it was an apology?”</p><p>Ecthelion gave him an exasperated look. “No, Glorfindel.”</p><p>But if not an apology, then it was- “A proposal?” Glorfindel blurted out.</p><p>Ecthelion closed his eyes, suddenly looking incredibly tired. “Well, an offer of courtship, I suppose, technically - but yes, call it a proposal if you like.” He smiled humourlessly, his eyes still closed. “From your reaction I can tell those feelings are not returned.”</p><p>“I did not say that!” Glorfindel said. “I only- I mean, of course I considered it, it was the logical conclusion- but I thought you had no interest in me!” They sat in silence for a moment before he added, “For how long?”</p><p>“Oh, a while,” Ecthelion said. “I thought I was being obvious at the start, when we were becoming closer, but we only seemed to become friends. Which was wonderful,” he added hastily, “but not entirely what I was aiming for.”</p><p>“But we became friends years ago, Ecthelion!”</p><p>Ecthelion winced. “You need not remind me. I know I should have been honest about the fact that I had romantic intentions toward you, from the start, if only so you could have rejected me, and we could have moved on. But I… I suppose I feared to hear you say no.”</p><p>“I will not say no,” Glorfindel said, without even thinking about it. “I- I do not know what to say. I have never really thought- or perhaps never allowed myself to think-” Glorfindel shook his head. “This is- a surprise.”</p><p>“I can see that,” Ecthelion said, finally cracking a smile.</p><p>“Maybe you should have told me years ago,” Glorfindel said quietly, “But I am glad you are telling me now.”</p><p>“As am I,” Ecthelion said.</p><p>They smiled at each other for a moment before Glorfindel said, “It did work, you know.”</p><p>“What did?”</p><p>“The raven masks, the assumed name. I near drove myself crazy trying to work out who was behind it all, and why they were doing it.” Glorfindel laughed softly. “I had drawn up a list of candidates.”</p><p>“Was I one of them?”</p><p>“Aye, you were, but apparently I was too stuck in my ways to truly consider that it was you. How I did not realise it right from the start, when we were dancing! Of course that was your voice.” Glorfindel shook his head. “And I <em>knew</em>, when we crossed swords at the end of the melee, it was like the answer was on the tip of my tongue-” He laughed again. “I suppose I had gotten so used to seeing you as a friend, I was blinded to anything else.”</p><p>“Which is why you jumped immediately to assuming it was an insult?”</p><p>Glorfindel winced. “Well, probably. That and… I have always wondered if others might find this particular preoccupation a little childish.”</p><p>“If it is, it is also very fun. Though nerve-wracking, also,” Ecthelion said. “Several times I half-thought I was going to have the helm ripped from my head, so many people were trying to guess my identity!”</p><p>“Ha!” Glorfindel clapped his hands, “I <em>knew </em>I would get you to admit that it was not all nonsense.”</p><p>“It <em>is </em>nonsense,” Ecthelion insisted, “But it is fun nonsense.”</p><p>Glorfindel shook his head. “Spoilsport. Still, I am glad you did it - and all for me, too.”</p><p>“I had to make you notice somehow.”</p><p>Glorfindel scoffed. “I would have noticed. Eventually.”</p><p>“Somehow I doubt that.”</p><p>They were silent for a moment before Glorfindel said quietly, “You do mean it? That you- love me?”</p><p>“Did I, Ecthelion, noted humourless grump and killjoy, not parade around in a raven mask to try and signal my romantic intentions toward you?” At Glorfindel’s frown, Ecthelion’s smile became more sincere, and he said, softer, “Yes, Glorfindel, you silly goose. I do love you.”</p><p>Glorfindel felt a frisson of excited butterflies run through his stomach. “If you keep making such grand, romantic gestures, I do not doubt I will soon be saying those words back.”</p><p>“Ah, I have done my half of the grand gestures. Now it is your turn.”</p><p>Glorfindel raised his eyebrows. “Be careful what you wish for.”</p><p>“I am sure I will handle it,” Ecthelion said, grinning back at him. </p><p>They stared at each other for a long time in the glow of the firelight, simply taking the time to drink one another in, to revel in this new agreement, this new truth and opening of hearts. Then Glorfindel couldn’t stop himself from laughing. “The King is going to have a field day with this,” he said.</p><p>“Well, he already gave me a talking to about my antics. Perhaps this will put him in a better mood.”</p><p>“We can only hope.” Glorfindel moved to the drinks cabinet in the corner, pouring them both a glass of sweet white wine. “To a successful courtship, then?” he said, handing one to Ecthelion, savouring the way saying ‘courtship’ made him feel.</p><p>“To a successful courtship,” Ecthelion agreed, “And to the raven.”</p><p>“Aye, to him I will certainly drink,” Glorfindel said, chinking their glasses together, “To the raven indeed.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thanks for reading!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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